


Me tienes que decir

by frankenbolt



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Grief, M/M, cheery huh?, dealing with death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:52:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenbolt/pseuds/frankenbolt
Summary: The lads survive the bus crash, and end up back at Scumbag to retake. Rick tries to process the multiple changes in his life and if this is even the life he wants anymore.He really just needs someone...to tell him if he...should stay or go, now.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Should I stay or should I go now? (yo me enfrió o lo soplo)  
> If I go there will be trouble (si me voy va a haber peligro)  
> And if I stay it will be double (si me quedo sera el doble)  
> So ya gotta let me know (me tienes que decir)  
> Should I cool it or should I blow? (me debo ir o quedarme)

“Mr Pratt!”

Rick’s head slipped from where it’d been resting on the palm of his hand to smash into the desk in front of him. Muffled snickers from his fellow students could be heard throughout the room, echoing against the plaster and brick work of the new building.

Fascist Bastards. 

Rubbing his nose ruefully, Rick stood up, blinking through the haze of pain emanating from the crash site. He absolutely was NOT crying because of a silly bump to the face.

He got worse when he returned from lectures on a daily basis after all.

“Yes, Sir? Sorry Sir, I was just...basking in the well of knowledge that is today’s lecture-”

The Lecturer, who was unfortunately NOT Mr Morrison (he’d been missing for a week now. Rick hoped the gossip around the department wasn’t true, and that he hadn’t been caught doing IT with a first year. Surely if he wanted to get off with someone he could have at least done it with someone in Rick’s year? Maybe even Rick’s course? Maybe someone who sat in Rick’s seat--) had a hard look about them. They’d been far more strict about turning up on time and actually handing in assignments. 

Dead set on having them learn what exactly it was they were supposed to DO with a Sociology Degree once they left Scumbag College. Rick had never once stopped to think about that when he’d applied. It was just the sort of sexy thing a bright young Anarchist was supposed to apply for. Even trampled down in the confinements of the system, Rick had been dead certain it was going to be a doddle, and he’d get to learn all about how he was going to bring down the state!

...Now he was being told that all of this could very well lead to him being a bloody HR Manager...or even worse. A LAWYER.

He supposed if he ended up accidentally going through with the course, and he became a Lawyer, Mummy and Daddy would be happy. Up in Heaven. Or...well. Wherever a bright young Anarchist like him was supposed to believe people went when they died.

Now, standing in front of a frowning Lecturer and surrounded by whispering class-mates was absolutely NOT the right time to remind himself that he hadn’t properly processed his grief with his parents dying.

Needless to say, Rick ended up having to stay behind after the Lecture, actually taking notes and listening to what the stuffy old bastard was saying. He was furious the entire time and kept interrupting to make snide little comments, but he found he actually learnt something in the process.

As Rick kicked his way back to the new share house (just as shitty as the last two, with yet another inexplicable Balowski family member as the landlord), scuffing his red boots against the pavement, he started thinking. Seriously thinking. 

He knew it was serious because there was very little poetry in it. Not that his poetry wasn’t important, but usually when he started thinking this hard it resulted in another of his brilliant poems.

Stopping in a park a little ways away from the house, Rick sat heavily on a bench and glared at the duck pond. 

What was he doing?

He’d gone to the bother of re-taking. He shouldn’t have failed the first time, but there’d been a party the one night he’d set aside for revision and then Vyvan had stapled him to the ceiling and things had gotten so very out of hand until those Aliens came by to borrow the toaster, then Thomas Dolby had done that musical number--

“What even is my bliming life?!” Rick groaned out loud. Some of the ducks stopped to eye him wairly. After scaring them away with a flail of his arms and shouting at them to stop judging him, Rick collapsed back on the bench. 

Was this the right choice? Re-taking just because Vyvan, Neil and Mike were? Maybe he should have gone home. Taken a year out. Have a good long think about what to do next. Pick a subject that he actually could use to make the world a better place.

The little voice in the back of his head that sounded far too Tory for his liking whispered that he COULD use Sociology to make the world a better place. Subvert things for the better from inside the regime. And he wouldn’t have to leave his comfort zone and be sensible. He could stay at Scumbag. And not leave his housemates.

He knew there was something very wrong when that sounded comforting. There should be nothing pleasant about the thought of staying in that house for longer with those lunatics. Sure it was chaos and mayhem. Everything a budding, big bottomed brilliant Anarchist should strive for.

Sighing heavily he lolled his head back to look up at the sky. And squawked loudly when a pale face with a shock of gelled orange spikes and star studs loomed over him.

“I CAN HEAR YOU THINKING ALL THE WAY FROM THE BLOODY HOUSE, BOGEY BUM.” Vyvan fumed. It was odd to see him in such a peaceful place as the park. A pair of grannies gave them a wide berth even as Vyvan waved madly at them as the passed.

Rick rolled sideways so he inched away from the punk’s stupid face, which still hovered upsettingly close to his own. 

“Oh I’m so terribly sorry Vyvyan!” Rick sniffed, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Here I was, trying to have a ruddy good hard think about life in a nice quiet public area and all this time I didn’t have the DECENCY to wonder about how it’d affect your very busy morning of smashing a hammer into the hallway wall. I suppose if I want to continue thinking I ought to hop on a train or something? Maybe go to Scarborough and have a good think up there!”

“Don’t be stupid Rick.” Vyvan stomped around the bench to fling himself onto the other end of it. “No-one wants to go to Scarborough.”

“Well you wouldn’t be there.” Rick huffed, wrapping his arms around himself.

“And miss seeing you miserable on the pier? Doubtful.”

“You see me miserable every blimin’ day, Vyvyan.”

“Yeah, so save your girly pocket money and stay put. Just keep your thoughts to a dull roar, alright?”

They sat for a while, Vyvyan chucking bits of dried lentils in the general direction of the ducks and Rick trying to work through what he’d been in the middle of thinking about before the punk had arrived. 

“Vyyan, why on earth have you got lentils in your pockets?”

“I was bringing you dinner.”

“...In your pockets?”

“You were late.” Vyvyan said pointedly. “Thought you might be peckish.”

“Yes but...wait. Wait, wait, waiiit.” Rick held up his hands, his face creasing in confusion. “That’s a lot to unpack. First of all-”

“Unpack? It’s just my pockets!”

“Shut up. FIRST of all, YOU. Vyvyan Basterd. Noticed I was late?”

“Well yeah. Your lecture ended about two hours ago. You missed your five o’clock beating. I can’t hang about all day waiting for you to get home you know Rick, I’m not a bloody dog.”

Rick’s cheeks flamed pink, and he swallowed the pithy comment he wanted to make about how if Vyvyan wasn’t a dog, then why would he wear a chain around his neck. That train of thought never led anywhere productive.

“Ok, well. Be that as it may.” Rick pushed on. “You thought to save me some dinner? Even if Neil’s ghastly cooking counts as food, which we’ll just, pretend it does for now.”

It was Vyvyan’s turn to turn pink, the effect all the more apparent due to his fair complexion under the multitude of acne dotted across his face. The punk stood abruptly and let out a rather nervous chuckle...before upending the park bench so Rick lay in a crumpled pile of whining and twitching limbs.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, bogey bum!” Vyvan cackled, aiming a kick to Rick’s side. “Get up and buy me some bloody chips, you’re right, Neil’s cooking just isn’t cutting it these days!”

As Rick limped alongside Vyvyan, it occurred to him that the other student actually hadn’t answered his second question.

And more alarmingly, he’d agreed with him on something. For once.


	2. Chapter Two

It’d been a week since the conversation in the park, and like most things that weren’t exclusively about Rick, the sociology student had forgotten all about Vyvyan’s strange behaviour.

No, Rick was still wrapped up in his dilemma about if he ought to drop out or not. He hadn’t done anything productive in regards to the situation, like talk to his tutors or an Adviser about it. The most he’d done was pick up a pamphlet on his way to lectures about deferral. It hadn’t been useful in the slightest considering it was mostly aimed at first years, and Rick was well on his way to finishing his third year at this point. Also he hadn’t bothered to read it, and so it sat crumpled in the bottom of his leather satchel, crammed between a freshly pilfered Cosmo magazine and several wrinkled notebook pages that might have been notes from a lecture, or abandoned poetry ideas.

The satchel itself was about as far as he’d allowed himself to move forward. One too many of his recent essays had been handed in on paper that looked like they’d been through a shredder and hastily sellotaped back together (which of course they had. You don’t leave paper around the share house without expecting it to get used as SPG’s cage lining). Having somewhere to store your work and textbooks to and from college substantially increased their quality.

Sue had given him the satchel. Or rather, she’d beaten him around the face with it. She too had somehow failed her exams last year- she’d been rather reluctant to talk about why, hence why she’d started beating him with it when he’d pelted her with questions. Sue seemed frustrated that she was “Still stuck on this stupid course with you, you tampon fondling nonce.” He’d been left in the lecture hall with the bag, timidly calling after her if she wanted it back, and she’d flicked the Vs at him and stormed out.

It was very nice. Not quite as nice as some of her other handbags (not that he’d been converting them or anything) Sue usually had, but it was rather butch. Or at least he thought so.

Plus it was one more place for him to proudly display all his lovely political buttons.

The satchel was something just for him. Something he had control over. He felt like his confidence soared when he was out and about with it. No it didn’t solve all his other problems, but at least it was his.

Hence why finding Vyvyan in his room with his nose buried in it was such a punch to the gut.

Planting his hands on his hips, Rick tapped his boot against the bare floorboards, waiting for an explanation. Vyvyan didn’t look up, just mindlessly rummaging around in the bag’s contents.

“And just WHAT do you think you’re doing, young man?” 

Vyvyan didn’t look up, pulling papers out and dumping them on the ground. “Looking for some fags. Thought you might have some in your girl purse here.” He snorted and shook the satchel. “You don’t keep a well stocked shop here do ya?”

“Oh I’m dreadfully sorry if you find it’s inventory lacking, Vyvyan!” Rick didn’t dare move forward into his own room. One wrong step and he’d be short one very useful (beautiful) bag. He winced as one of his badges was shaken loose from the outer flap and skidded across the bare floorboards. “I don’t usually keep cigarettes in there. Just coursework. You know.” He couldn’t help but throw one little dig in. “That thing you’ve neglected to do all term?”

Snorting at the sociology student’s attempt at superiority, Vyvyan stood up from the bed, and brandished the satchel at Rick. “You’ve never seen me do any coursework have you?”

“No. And frankly I’m amazed they still let you on the course at all!”

“Just because you don’t see any evidence for something, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

“Ridiculous, all science is based on evidence. You’d know that if you-”

“What? If I went to lectures? Well guess what clever clogs, I do go.” Vyvyan puffed up his chest proudly. “And I do my coursework. Been doing it this whole time, as it happens. S’why I’ve got a place next year to work whilst I finish my degree at St Groucho’s Hospital and you’re too busy pissing about with deferrals to notice you’ve only got one flipping year left.”

Rick’s face paled beneath the plethora of acne. How did he know?

Vyvyan reached into his front pocket and pulled out the deferral pamphlet Rick had been avoiding looking at. The punk smacked him in the face with it, and thrusted the satchel into Rick’s limp arms. “Don’t know why you’re botherin’ with this rubbish. Just finish your bloody degree, you girl. The evidence-” Vyvyan smacked Rick again in the face, harder this time, the punk’s sneer spreading wider as he physically recoiled. “-shows that you’re actually good at something. Something as utterly pointless as Sociology but whatever. Just sit your spotty arse down and get on with it!”

“But I don’t- Stop that!” Rick tried to bat the other boy’s hands away so he’d stop hitting him. It didn’t work. “-look, what if there’s something out there that I’d be better at?”

“Then you come back and you do another degree. You haven’t even tried this one out yet! You only want to leave because you’re depressed.”

“Excuse me?!” Rick threw the bag to one side, and physically bristled. Vyvyan actually took a step back at this, eyeing the younger boy in interest. Rick was flushed that disgusting puce colour he got when he was truly angry. “I’m not a Virgin” angry. The buttons on that grotty grey shirt of his looked fit to burst and his nose wrinkled that ugly way when he was getting ready to go off on one. Furious blue eyes glared at him and finally Vyvyan felt he was getting somewhere.

“You. Are. Depressed.” Vyvyan spread the words out slowly. “And to be honest, it’s been getting on my tits watching you get quieter and quieter. Your grades have improved but you are totally miserable and it’s really pissing me off.”

Rick looked like he was going to explode but he was still rooted to the spot, his mouth clamped firmly shut. Vyvyan could see the gears slowly grinding together behind that filthy ill cut fringe of his. One more little push.

“And, I’ll tell you another thing.” Vyvyan lent casually against the metal head rest of Rick’s bed. “It’s made you far more revolting than usual. I mean, if I thought you were ugly before it’s nothing compared to no--”

The end of that sentence was cut off by Rick launching himself at the punk, shouldering him back into the dirty mattress. Vyvyan tried to struggle back, but the way he’d landed left his arms awkwardly pressed behind him, his legs pinned between Rick’s. If Rick had cared to notice he would have realised this was probably the first and only time he’d ever gotten the upper hand on his housemate.

But he didn’t.

His attention was solely focused on smashing his fists as hard as he could into the punk’s stupid face, wailing blow after blow, most of them connecting.

Beneath the rage slowly building in the ginger, was a bubbling surge of pride. It hurt like hell, but god, it was worth it to finally see Rick letting out all that tension. And it wasn’t as if Rick would draw blood. It was /Rick/ after all. And as soon as the younger boy got it out of his system, Vyvyan was planning on getting his revenge.

That thought made Vyvyan smirk- a mistake. Because Rick’s fist connected with his nose ring, pulling enough at the cartilage and skin for it to rip. Not enough for the ring to become dislodged but enough for the metal to dig into the flesh of his upper lip, and quite suddenly, blood was blossoming over Rick’s fist, the sheets, and drenching the punk’s shirt.

Rick stopped, his fist held above his head. He shakily exhaled, examining his fingers as they dripped with streaks of Vyvyan’s blood, face shiny with sweat and tears. He’d been steadily crying the entire time he’d realised with a start.

Clumsily he shuffled backwards in shock, cradling his fist against his chest. Sobbing Rick curled in on himself, desperately trying not to touch the punk who was only just moving from his own position.

Vyvyan pulled his arms out from under himself but didn’t bother sitting up. It had been a long time since anyone had drawn blood from him. Gingerly, he teased the area of flesh above his lip and pulled the thick ring of metal from it’s piercing. Tucking it carefully into one of his vest pockets he let his arms flop back onto the bed, a satisfied grin plastered on his face.

“So. Feel better?”

Rick started at the sound of Vyvyan’s voice, suddenly remembering that the older boy was there at all. The nasal and thick sound had cut through the white noise that was roaring through Rick’s head, the steady thrum of his own heart beating against his bruised and cut fists. Rick’s usual first response was to snappily reply that as a vegetarian drawing blood wasn’t terrifically high on his list of coping mechanisms but he bit it back. He took the time to actually think about how he felt.

Numb. No...he’d been numb before. All the emotions he supposed he should have been feeling since the bus crash had been cruelly ripped from him in that single moment of violence. They were slowly fading into the background, and the back of his head tingled with the sensation of that numbness resurging. 

But he felt...better. Content. For the moment.

“Better.” Rick softly muttered, flexing his fingers. “...um. That is what you wanted to happen?”

“Well I thought I’d get a few good licks in too, but I think I’ll let you have this one.” Vyvyan sat up a little, and grinned through a mouthful of blood, one eye winced shut. “Just this one mind.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Vyvyan watched Rick for a while longer, waiting until the younger boy looked up, then ran his tongue through the gore coating his top lip.

“Vyvyan that is diiiiisssgusting!” He couldn’t quite hide the visible dilation of his pupils or the fresh pink that flushed upwards from his collar at this distance, as much as he screwed his face in apparent disgust. The pulse of want mixed with the lingering adrenaline had him breathing heavily, and Vyvyan mentally noted it all with interest.

“Go be a good girl and fetch my med kit, will you?”

“And why on earth should I do that?”

“Because you have to patch me up.” Vyvyan said simply, letting his head flop back onto the mattress. “You made this mess, you fix it.”

Rick nodded, getting up more to distract himself from the flex of tendons in Vyvyan’s neck as he settled in more comfortable on the bed. “I don’t know the first thing about first aid…”

“I’ll talk you through it.”

Rick quickly ran across the hall, thankful Mike and Neil had been out all morning, not noticing the way Vyvyan had taken a handful of his sheets, worrying it calmly through his fingers. 

Or noticing that in his own twisted way, the punk had helped him quite a bit that morning. 

The Deferral Pamphlet was shredded and thrown out when Rick came across it the next day.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just why is Vyv being so nice?  
> ...Well...

Several months back...

Vyvyan had needed paper.

On this occasion it had been for purely educational purposes. His latest paper on the importance of good mental health in the under sixteens (not so helpfully titled “Why kids shouldn’t be smacked upside the head to get the little tossers to stop crying.”) had hit a block and the medical student was sorely tempted to start another draft before he lost his nut and destroyed what was left of his original draft.

On other occasions, he’d needed bog roll. On others, he’d needed hamster cage lining. On others he’d needed rolling paper for a joint. And sometimes he simply liked to shake his housemate’s lives up and introduce some chaos to the already chaotic environment.

Mike never seemed to keep paper around. He was smart like that. But of course, no-one was even sure what he was studying, let alone if he did any coursework, so the chances for Vyvyan to find paper in his room was slim. Not that Vyvyan would ever break into the older man’s room. Nah, Mike was a top bloke. 

The last stash of paper Vyv pilfered from Neil’s room had a weird texture to it. It wasn’t until he was smacking a piece of crockery into the hippie’s forehead later that he got the answer for this bizarre species of paper- the idiot was pressing and creating his own paper from plant fibres. A cursory burn of a piece on the oven had the living area stinking of weed for weeks so there was no-way Vyvyan was handing his paper in on that…but he toyed with the idea of rolling some grass in it later to trick Rick into smoking.

So of course that left only one option.

Kicking the door to Rick’s room with one mighty swing of a heavy black doc marten boot, Vyvyan had casually strolled in and immediately descended on the so-called “secret” floorboard stash. Impatiently pushing through well thumbed issues of cosmo, a small red case which Vyvan already knew held a small assortment of make up (that was an entire kettle of fish altogether and he wasn’t about to touch that with a ten foot pole), until he found the various notebooks he’d been looking for.

Sitting back on his heels, Vyvan ripped through the half finished poems and various lists (“Rick’s top ten Cliff Richard singles”, “Rick’s dreams for the future” and “Rick’s ultimate worst enemy list” were all vomit worthy enough that Vyv barely acknowledged them) until he found an empty pad of paper and made to get up to leave, only to spy a half scribbled out note laying at the bottom of the pile of discarded papers.

“V.B”

Raising an eyebrow, Vyvyan idly picked the page out of the pile, and stomped his way back to his room, tossing the note onto his desk.

Whatever it was it could wait. He had an essay to write.

It had waited.

The note sat unread for several weeks until that one fateful, boring summer day after their exams had finished.

Vyvyan had awoken to find the sun already beating against the walls of the house, baking the share house and everyone inside it. Just as it had for the last two weeks and he was getting sick of it. Everyone’s weekly stipend of cash had halted for the summer, and the others mentioned their intentions to run off home to their parents houses for the break. 

Well. Mike said he’d be off with a couple of birds in Spain, but the validity of that statement hadn’t been tested.

Vyvan was toying with the idea of getting a job somewhere...maybe a Chemists. Plenty of spare chemicals knocking about...and it’s not like he had a home to go sponge at for the next six weeks.

He’d seen a newspaper somewhere in the mess of his room and he belligerently staggered over to his desk through the haze of sticky summer heat to start sifting through it all...only to come up with the “V.B” note again.

Blinking at it in a daze, he’d stuffed it into his back pocket and carried on the task at hand.

And so the note had gone ignored once again.

Until they’d ended up in the hospital from what had been, in his opinion, one of the top ten explosions of his life.

A nurse had dropped off what could be salvaged of their clothes and the possessions that they’d had on them at the time. Rick’s faux-military attire had mostly been tatters, which they’d all (minus Rick of course) had a good laugh over. Most of his hair had burnt away too so now the bald prick was sulking in an oversized pair of scrubs. Neil’s hair had miraculously survived, which added insult the injury for the anarchist. 

Vyvan’s jeans had been unsalvageable apparently. His vest was now a collection of melted spikes. But his boots had made it, which instantly brought a grin to his face. So there he sat in a pair of scrub bottoms and, to his delight, the doctors had furnished him with his own doctors coat, when he’d told them he was a medical student.

The remains of his jeans however sat in a plastic tub. Really only the seat of the pants remained which amused him to no end, eagerly holding them up for the other lads to see, shaking his “arse” at them. Until a piece of paper floated out of the only remaining pocket.

“What’s that Vyv?” Neil’s mumble came from a thick layer of bandages (Vyv and Rick had immediately seen to it that the spare medical supplies in the room had been put to good use as soon as they’d been able to move).

“Nothing!” Scrunching the note up and stuffing it in the pocket of his doctor’s coat, he swung his legs off of the hospital bed and stumbled towards the toilets. “Need a piss, be right back.”

It was only when he was safely ensconced in a cubicle- and scaring the pensioner who’d been sat on the lavatory in the next stall as he slammed the door shut- that he finally unfurled the note.

“V.B  
Do you know what you do to me?  
We’re worlds apart, don’t you see?  
With every violent bout  
Your touch makes me doubt  
If girls are what it’s all about  
If you could only hear my plea  
That it’s you who could set me free  
V.B”

Parts had been scribbled out and written in pencil and biro. Apparently Rick had been very upset he couldn’t get the word “Bourgeoisie” in there somewhere. Somewhere beyond the roaring in his ears, Vyvyan was secretly very glad he hadn’t been able to shove some half understood political reference in there.

His already weakened legs (sure he’d broken both of them in the crash, but he’d always healed quicker than modern science was able to account for) collapsed under him, and he sat heavily on the lid of the toilet.

...Rick fancied him?

Unless it was a different V.B?

The presence of “Violent bout” threw that into question however. How many V.Bs were beating that prat up?

“There’d better NOT be anyone else beating him up! He’s min--” Vyvyan slapped his hand over his mouth mid growl. 

Uh-oh…

“Oh...piss.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick contemplates Vyv's behaviour since the bus crash. Finally.

Chapter Four

Finding the med kit in Vyvyan’s room had been easy. Rick was struck with the realisation that in the six months since they’d moved into their current share house, he’d never bothered to investigate what the other bedrooms looked liked. 

The morning they’d moved in, he’d been uncharacteristically quiet. The Balowski family member they rented it from had eagerly shown the other boys around whilst Rick had moped about in the garden. It wasn’t until Vyvyan smacked him around the head, ripping him from his sullen mood that he’d finally gone inside to claim the only bedroom left.

And his new room was nicer, that much was obvious. The bed wasn’t covered in filth (yet) and there was even carpet. Rick had toed the floor in disinterest before locking himself in and taking the time to read the fat envelope of paper wedged inside his coat.

His parents Will. 

The next few days after moving in, he’d gone down to the post office, the solicitors, the bank- ruddy everywhere to get it all sorted out. Telephoning relatives and his parent’s friends. He’d preened a little as they told him how grown up it was for him to take all this on, on his own and truly, he was a little amazed himself at how he’d handled it. Twenty three and skilfully manoeuvring through the hoops of legal jargon like he’d been meant to do it.

And then the funeral happened.

He hadn’t told the boys where he was going, just left a note on his door. Rick didn’t want them to have another reason to take the piss, because honestly that was the only way he and his housemates communicated. He’d been half way to the station when he felt the smack of a familiar hand against his slowly regrowing hair.

“Vyvyan-!”

Vyvyan was fuming, his pale face contorted with displeasure. “Why the HELL are you going alone?!”

Rick had stared at the punk perplexed. “What? Vyvyan, just where do you think I’m blimin’ going? It’s not a holiday, it’s my parents ruddy funeral!”

“EXACTLY!” The punk shot back. “You can’t go alone! That’s mental.”

“Uh, well. My...uncle and aunts will be there...and my cousins-”

The punk scoffed, and yanked the suitcase from Rick’s hand. “You hate them all. You called them all fascist Tory bigots.” Vyvyan started striding away towards the station with Rick’s suitcase, a backpack on his own shoulders. 

Rick bemusedly followed after him. “Yes, well. They are. The bastards.”

“You really expect to get through all this without them makin’ some stupid little comment about your hair, or your politics? Nah, Rick, you need a distraction.” Vyvyan grinned. “And I’m your man!”

Rick felt the tips of his ears turning red at this brazen proclamation, hoping no-one listening in on their conversation took it the wrong way. “And just what are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yep!” Vyvyan gestured to himself, in all of his ripped and studded glory. “What better distraction is there than you bringing home your punk roommate for your parents funeral?”

“...No explosions?”

“None.”

There had been a minor one, resulting in his Aunty Clara’s homemade trifle splattering the side of the house, but other than that, Vyvyan was true to his word, and on his best behaviour.

He’d been little more than a bodyguard over Rick the entire time. It was rather like having a bulldog for the week, trotting behind him and glowering at anyone who seemed like they were going to give Rick a hard time. It...was oddly comforting, barely slicing through the malaise of numbness that Rick was feeling about the whole situation. He hadn’t cried. He hadn’t lost his temper. He just felt tired and apathetic.

Every inane platitude that someone paid him during the service, just rolled right off his back with a stiff nod and thanking them for coming. Anyone who seemed like they might want a longer word was soon scared off by the off-putting punk lurking just behind Rick at all times.

“Who do you suppose that is?”

“Always knew there was something wrong with that boy-”

“-that’s what they get up to at university these days?-”

But the reason this had all decided to resurface now, as Rick’s hands were still red with the blood of the same boy who’d barged his way into his parents’ funeral, a total of five and a half months later, was sitting neatly on the corner of Vyvyan’s desk.

The retrieved med kit in one hand, Rick reached out and pulled a framed piece of paper towards himself.

The V.B poem.

“Wha…”

He’d written it what seemed like a lifetime ago, during their second year (and in their first share house). When he’d been nursing an infatuation with the obnoxious ginger, who was now laying bleeding on Rick’s bed across the hall…

An infatuation that had been squashed and trampled and pummelled into submission as Rick convinced himself that someone as wonderful, brutal, annoying and gorgeous as Vyv would never return his feelings. An infatuation he’d buried with every awkward snog at a party, and a few half-hearted shags that never felt as great as when Vyvan’s fists would smash into his bruised flesh.

“OI, POOF, I’M BLEEDING OUT OVER HERE!”

Rick started and mindlessly wandered back into his own room, where just seeing Vyvyan, stained in crimson and grinning through a half closed eye and a mouthful of blood, made everything click into place.

“Took you bloody lo..ng...um...enough…” Vyv’s voice trailed off when he saw the framed poem clutched in Rick’s hand. “Ah...found that did ya?”

Rick turned to close the door behind him, and Vyvyan swallowed thickly. The poet dumped the poem on his own desk and then dropped the med kit on the bed, before sitting down next to it. Opening the bag, Rick muttered. “...So tell me what to do.”  
Before long, Rick was snapping the kit shut, and Vyvyan was sitting up next to him, eyes planted on the pile of bloody cotton buds on the carpet in front of him. 

“...You didn’t need to use that many, I’m going to have to raid the stock cupboard at school to restock.”

“Where, praytell, did you get all of that in the first place? It doesn’t look exactly cheap.”

Vyvyan grinned, this time with only a momentary wince to betray there’d been any damage. It truly had looked worse than it really was. “Stock cupboard.”

Rick clucked his tongue and laced his own fingers together, rather than look at Vyvyan. “How long have you had that poem?”

“Since last year. Nicked it from your floorboard stash.”

Rick frowned and finally looked up. “So you’ve known for a whole year?”

Shaking his head. “Only read it when we were at the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

“Just saw my initials on it. Didn’t think it was important til I read it.”

Rick sighed and shook his head. 

“So is it? Still?” 

“Is it what?”

Vyvyan licked his lips, wincing at the taste of antiseptic still lingering there. “...Is the poem still important, Rick?”

“...Yes.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I just don’t think...I’m ready.” Rick groaned and fell backwards to stare up at the ceiling. “This isn’t how I wanted for you to know.”

Vyvyan shuffled back up the bed to lay next to him. “Do...you think you need more time?”

“We’re leaving in a few months.” The words left Rick in a whisper.

“So what?”

“So what about...you know. Medical school and all that?”

“You really think I’m going to let work get in the way of your five o’clock beating?”

Rick laughed at that, and with a jolt he realised their hands were centimetres apart. With a bravery he wasn’t sure he actually possessed, he linked their pinky fingers together. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in my drive for a while. I kinda want to do a couple of chapters just to see where it goes. The rating might change because I'm just...that kind of person I guess.


End file.
